Frizzy Screens & Palm Lines
Maya's hair had always been her security blanket—a thick, curly curtain she could hide behind whenever algebra got too confusing or Jason's eyes lingered too long across the lunchroom. But today, she'd straightened it into submission, and now she felt weirdly exposed, like a hermit crab whose shell had suddenly vanished.
Her iPhone buzzed in her pocket, vibrating against her thigh like a tiny, anxious heartbeat. A text from Chloe: u coming??? jason's literally looking at the door every 5 seconds
Maya's palms started sweating. Great. Now she'd have to worry about both her hair frizzing back up in the humidity and potential hand-holding disasters. She fished a vitamin D gummy from her backpack—her mom was obsessed with them ever since that "wellness influencer" on TikTok claimed teenagers were all deficient—and chewed it aggressively. Like aggressive chewing would help.
"You're overthinking again," she muttered to her reflection in the gymnasium bathroom mirror. The mirror didn't disagree.
The winter formal was dumb anyway. She'd only agreed to come because Chloe had staged an intervention in her bedroom three days ago, complete with a PowerPoint presentation titled "MAYA'S SOCIAL LIFE: A CRITICAL SITUATION" that featured way too many memes of sad frogs.
Her phone lit up again. Chloe: pick up ur phone i know ur reading this
Maya typed back: comingggg calm down
She smoothed her dress, checked her teeth for lipstick, and walked toward the gym entrance where bass was already making the walls shudder. Jason was there, looking unexpectedly nervous in a suit that was slightly too big at the shoulders.
"Hey," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You look... nice. Your hair's different."
"Yeah, I felt like mixing it up." Maya shrugged, trying to look casual. "You clean up okay yourself."
They stood there for a weirdly long moment while people streamed past them into the gym. Maya's palms were definitely sweating now. Was she supposed to initiate hand-holding? Was that a thing people did?
"So," Jason said, "my friend said that if you hold hands with someone, it means something about your palm lines and compatibility or something?"
"That's not a thing," Maya laughed. "That's absolutely not a thing."
"Yeah, I figured." He held out his hand anyway. "Wanna find out?"
Maya looked at his open palm, then at her own slightly damp one, and thought: whatever. She took his hand, and something weird and fluttery happened in her chest that had nothing to do with vitamin deficiencies or algebra anxiety or whatever else she'd been overthinking.
"Your hands are soft," Jason said, sounding surprised.
"I use moisturizer," Maya said. "Multivitamin complex. Very mature."
He laughed, and she thought maybe—just maybe—this wouldn't be so terrible after all. Even with frizzy hair inevitable by midnight.